


In case you're wondering....

by allrounderinsane



Category: Cricket RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrounderinsane/pseuds/allrounderinsane
Summary: ….because of course you are, not that you’d tell anybody. You really don’t know what tomorrow will bring or how you’ll react to those unknowns. It gets easier. It gets harder, too, but you’ll get to that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enpassant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpassant/gifts).



> Back in March, incorrectcricketquotes/enpassant said that she'd have five lines of this fic in 2019 and it would still make her smile. I am so sorry for making you wait and then only offering up this incredibly short first chapter. I hope that you enjoy it Xx

  1. **You’ll feel a little pang of guilt when you’re picked for Australia, and maybe you were always going to. There’s only eleven men in a team; you were always going to be replacing someone.**



 

_Brisbane, December 2014_

 

It’s three days before Christmas. Joe is strolling the Village Centre at Kelvin Grove, when his phone vibrates in the pocket of its cargo shorts. Burdened down by bags of impulse Christmas shopping, he rushes over to the nearest courtesy seat. Just as Joe reaches it, the phone stops vibrating. He collects his shopping again, vowing to check his phone when he returns to his car.

 

+

 

The carpark is full. Hopeful shoppers circle like sharks waiting for somebody like Joe to relinquish their spot. When he finally locates his vehicle and squeezes the button of his car keys to pop open the boot, Joe dumps the bags, fitting snugly alongside his cricket coffin. It’s only then, after he’s shut the boot again, that he fishes his phone from his pocket and checks the missed call. It’s from a private number. That in itself doesn’t alarm him. Plenty of cricketers have private numbers, and in the midst of the Big Bash, Joe has plenty of new friends. Once he gets back in his car and gives up his spot to a grateful Christmas shopper, he returns the call on the handsfree.

“Good morning, Mr Burns.” Joe cringes just a little, but he’s really smiling.

 

Turning towards the exit ramp, the voice is a little clearer. It sends a jolt through Joe.

“It’s Mark Waugh here,” he introduces, but Joe has already figured that out. “We just wanted to tell you that you’ve been included in the Test squad for Boxing Day. We’ve booked a flight to Melbourne for you tomorrow morning, if that suits.”

“Of course,” Joe almost whispers, and he hopes that the phone call still picks up his voice. “Thanks, mate.”

“Don’t worry, mate, you’ve earned it,” Mark responds.

He keeps talking.

 

Joe is listening, but the words don’t register over the thudding of his heart.

“Am I in?” he eventually interjects, because he can’t wait any longer.

“Yes,” Mark confirms, “batting at six. Thank Mitch’s hamstring.”

Joe doesn’t want to.

 

He’s an injury replacement. Joe understands that his good fortune is somebody else’s misfortune. Nonetheless, he beams. He’s made it.

“Thanks, mate,” Joe gushes.

“Boof reckons you’re the best man for the job and we all agree,” Mark comments. 

Joe goes quiet again.

“You still there?” Mark asks.

“Yeah.” Joe’s voice is dreamy.

Mark laughs fondly.

 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, “Congratulations, mate.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nephew in this chapter is fictional; I don't know if Joe really has a nephew, I'm inventing the family things.

 

  1. **You’ll fear David a little, until he opens his mouth.**



_ Brisbane, December 2014 _

 

ABC news is on the television when Joe opens the screen door of his family home. He pads down the cool tiled hallway, into the adjoining living room. Joe catches sight of the television, where Boof and Mark Waugh are addressing a press conference.

“Look, I’ve worked with Joe at Queensland for a couple of years and he’s the best man for the job,” the coach testifies.

The loving arms of Joe’s mother wrap around him, leaning up to kiss his shoulder.

“My boy,” she gushes, “you won’t be coming for Christmas.”

“Yes,” Joe confirms. “Sorry.”

“We would come down if we could,” she tells him, “but there’s no flights until the morning of Boxing Day.”

 

“You’re coming down for the Test?” Joe asks, as his mother steps around to face him.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She’s beaming.

“Joe’s adaptability, he can really bat anywhere from one to six and that makes him a good prospect for not just this series, but looking into the future,” Mark adds. 

Joe’s beloved father steps in through the back door, dirt on his shorts from the vegetable patch. The grin on his face is from ear to ear as he races towards his son, arms outstretched. Both of Joe’s parents embrace him at once.

“We’re so thrilled for you, son,” his father tells him. “So, so thrilled for you. You’ll be excellent. I’m sure of it.”

 

Joe is pleased by his father’s assurance.

“It’s just like when you were little,” his mother comments. “You’re the Vegemite in our hug sandwich.”

Joe giggles at the fond memory. Eventually, they part.

“Good old Mark Waugh and Boof Lehmann have been talking about you all afternoon on the tele,” Joe’s mother points out. “They’ve been saying such lovely things about you. Of course, we’ve known it all along.”

 

She pauses.

“How are you feeling, Joseph?” Joe’s mother asks.

He breathes deeply, thinking, then smiles.

“Mitchell Marsh hurt his hamstring,” Joe explains. “That’s why there’s a place in the team.”

 

“Still,” his mother reasons, “one day you might hurt your hamstring and you’d want the person taking your spot to feel pleased for themselves, wouldn’t you? This is your dream, Joseph. You’re such a caring man, but be pleased for yourself. We are.”

Joe gives his Mum a big hug, beaming. 

“Ah, you’ve always been so good to me, Mum,” he tells her.

Joe glances up at his father.

“You, too, Dad,” he adds.

Joe’s father hugs them both.

 

“Now you’re the Vegemite, Mum,” Joe reflects.

“I am,” she confirms.

When the front door opens, they separate. Young footsteps patter into the house.

“Uncle Joey!” his six-year-old nephew Ethan greets him enthusiastically. “That’s so cool that you’re going to play for Australia!”

 

“Yeah,” Joe agrees, high-fiving his nephew. “It is pretty cool.”

“Can you do something for me, please?” Ethan begs.

“Not embarrass myself?” Joe guesses. “I’ll try my best.”

“I was actually going to ask for David Warner’s autograph,” Ethan corrects.

 

Joe ruffles the boy’s hair, so similar to his own.

“I’ll see what I can do for you, mate,” he promises.

“Thank you, Uncle Joey.” Ethan beams. “I wish that you were playing at the Gabba so that I could come and cheer for you too.” 

“It’s alright, your Grandma and Granddad will cheer for you.” Joe casts a fond smile in their direction. “You can watch on the tele, if you want.”

“Of course,” Ethan agrees.

 

+

__

_ Melbourne, December 2014 _

__

Joe ambles down the hotel hallway, barefoot. The carpet is soft underneath the arches of his feet. Joe’s room card is between his fingers. Turning the corner, David Warner is strolling down the other hall. His baby daughter Ivy is nestled in his arms. Joe doesn’t speak, unsure of what to say.

“Hello Joe,” David greets with a slight smile. “I’d shake your hand, but.”

He gestures downwards. It takes Joe a minute to realise that he’s referring to the baby. He nods in agreement, and smiles.

“You know, if I wasn’t here,” Joe starts rambling, “I don’t think ill if you if you’re distant from me. David, you’re amazing. We’re all in awe of you and I know that I will try my best to do whatever I can to bat well on Boxing Day. And all the days after Boxing Day too, whenever I can, for as long as they pick me until Mitch is better.”

 

David is still staring at Joe blankly. He takes a step closer, and smiles.

“Mate, you get your baggy green on Boxing Day,” David reminds. “Nobody would want to take that away from you, not for anything.”

 

+

 

The fan is swirling above Joe’s head when he awakes on the morning of Christmas Day. He’s used to Herston – his father’s baked potatoes and the smell of freshly mown grass on a sizzling hot day in the Sunshine State. Instead, Joe has to settle for Melbourne, but, as David said, he wouldn’t have it any other way. His parents are flying down in the morning. Joe will see them then. He stands. Joe ambles over to the door, where there’s a card resting on the floor. He bends down and picks it up, then straightens.

‘Merry Christmas from the Warners’; it reads, on a beaming picture of David, Candice and baby Ivy.

Joe smiles too. Christmas is so much more beautiful with children. Joe retrieves a shirt, then exits his hotel room to thank them for the card. David and Ivy aren’t hide to find, as they’re playing on the floor at the end of the hall.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls out.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Joe responds.

He holds up the card.

“Thank you for the card, that’s lovely.” Joe leans against the wall.

“No worries, mate,” David responds. “Candice needs some sleep, so that’s why we’re out here, playing, aren’t we, gorgeous girl?”

 

His attention is fixed on the baby in his lap. Joe can’t help but continue smiling.

“You’re a good dad, David,” he tells him.

David finally breaks out into a grin, then it disappears.

“I have to try my best for this girl, every single day,” he vows. “It’s my duty. I love her so much.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a challenging chapter to write, to be perfectly honest. Joe is in a daze partially because I can't quite comprehend what fulfilling a dream like that would be like.

  1. **In an instant, you’ll be a backseat bandit, with Bucky and Watto. It’s not as cool as it sounds, but it’s positively awesome having them be your friends.**



_ Melbourne, December 2014 _

 

Steve Waugh. Ed Cowan. Jackson Bird. Phil Jacques. Martin Love. Every player in the first ever Test match. These are just some of the Australian cricketers to make their Test debuts at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, many of them on Boxing Day. Before heading to the ground, Joe watches eager patrons streaming across the park. He hopes that he won’t let them down, then lifts up his coffin. Joe pads over to the lift, then travels down to the basement. The team bus is parked there and his new teammates are packing their bags underneath. Joe follows suit, then climbs up into the bus. He waits by the driver’s seat just for a moment, trying to find his natural place, as a fledging yet without a home.

 

Smudger sits up the front, up straight with chin raised like a schoolboy, ready to answer his name before an excursion. Beside him, Boof’s head is buried in scrawled notes.

“Excuse me, mate.” Gaz smiles at Joe, who steps forward.

When Bucky enters the bus, he brushes past Joe’s shoulder.

“Sit with Shane and I, mate, if you’d like,” he suggests.

Joe grins and follows the opening batsman to the back of the bus. They sit down next to where Watto is already waiting, nestled in the corner.

“Thanks, Buck.” Joe grins. “Am I, you know, allowed to stay here?”

“Of course, mate,” Bucky agrees. “You’re part of this team now.”

 

+

 

During warm-ups, Joe’s still in his training cap. He doesn’t like to ask. Joe knows that, in due time, that baggy green will cover his wavy hair, already damp with perspiration on the humid Melbourne morning. There’s about an hour until the commencement of play, when it’s Smudger who taps him on the shoulder.

“Come on, mate,” he urges. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

For such a fresh-faced man, Smudger’s presence is commanding as he gathers in the team. It’s Craig McDermott, a fellow Queenslander, albeit a bowler, with Joe’s baggy green in his hands. He tries not to look at it just yet, to focus on Billy’s face and the words he’s saying. They’re beautiful, and every one of them is already in Joe’s bones. Then, his new teammates break out into applause. Finally, Billy hands Joe the cap, which he places straight on his head, beaming towards his parents. It fits snugly, but not too tight, like it was sculpted to embrace his mind. Billy extends his hand, which Joe shakes firmly.

 

He can hear the words of his primary school principal. That man had extended that every pupil needed to learn a good handshake. Joe hopes that he would have impressed him. Once the huddle starts to disperse, his teammates, one by one, come to congratulate him. Joe thanks them all, although he’s a little dazzled. Joe’s heart is thumping and he has to remember to breathe, compelled to forget through his excitement. Then, a suited figure gingerly heads over to them. The hand of Michael Clarke is thrust in his direction and Joe again shakes it firmly. Pup’s words of wisdom are directed with a glare which, to the untrained eye, could have been intimidating.

 

Yet, Joe’s aware of the passion in the man, spilling out through his words. He nods along.

“Thanks, mate,” is all Joe can manage to say.

Pup slaps him on the shoulder.

“Good man,” he tells him. “Show them what you’re made of.”

Joe blinks in an instant, and then Pup is once again gone. He turns around and is immediately embraced by his parents. Their tight hug keeps Joe standing.

“Congratulations.” He’s heard that word so many times this morning.

Joe beams, his continued smile dreamy. He’s only just a little worried that he might be dreaming.

“Thanks, Mum, thanks, Dad,” Joe responds. “I love you. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“No matter what, my boy,” his mother insists, “you’ll always be our best Joseph.”


End file.
